


Pirate Smiles

by FallingStories



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Sherlock is cute and innocent, also I managed to make preschool depressing, until he isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingStories/pseuds/FallingStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s very observant, but he is… somewhat lacking in diplomacy,” Mycroft continued. Thirteen, Sherlock remembered, Mycroft was thirteen twelve eleven ten nine seven – no, eight, then seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Mycroft was so old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pirate Smiles

When he was five, Mummy bought him a dog. Sherlock wore his pirate costume every day back then. Mycroft had pictures, faded with the years but vivid still, the rusty puppy and the little boy pressed close to each other: Redbeard and Sherlock the Terrible. His puppy was the first friend Sherlock had. He didn’t know what having real people as friends would be like. When he thought about going to school, heading off to preschool and meeting boys and girls his age, he felt like flying was possible. He would be able to talk to people that would answer back. The best answer he ever got out of Redbeard was a bark when he talked about dinner.  


Sherlock had nearly worn his beloved pirate costume to pieces by the time he was finally old enough for school. He already knew his numbers, and how to spell M-Y-C-R-O-F-T and S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K and R-E-D-B-E-A-R-D. He wore that pirate costume to his first day, ready to learn about physics just like Mycroft did in his classes.  


Everyone looked up when Mycroft stood at the door uncomfortably, holding Sherlock's tiny hand. He addressed the teacher formally, but Sherlock wasn’t really listening. He was tugging on Mycroft’s sleeve, eager to meet the other kids. The walls were bright bright white, with pictures of fruit and animals pinned up. The windows were uncovered, the curtains pulled back to let sunlight shine through. Windows hadn’t been washed, but the floor was clean, the carpet soft and only a few sneaker prints on the linoleum under the snack tables. Half the room was filled with toys, blocks and dollhouses and plastic dinosaurs, and the other side had drawing stuff scattered on the tables, pencils and crayons and markers.  


"Sher- William is a little different," Mycroft began, as Sherlock started tugging on his arm. He wanted to tell Mycroft that the woman had fingertips that smelled like cigarettes – icky things, Sherlock’s uncle smoked and Mummy would look at him with tight lips if he lit up inside the house.  


“He’s very observant, but he is… somewhat lacking in diplomacy,” Mycroft continued. Thirteen, Sherlock remembered, Mycroft was thirteen twelve eleven ten nine seven – no, eight, then seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Mycroft was so old. But this new lady was older. There was yellow residue around her nails. Sherlock knew that meant she smoked often, but she was rubbing her temples and her clothes smelled clean.  


“Why can’t you smoke at work?” Sherlock asked her, standing on tiptoes. He knew there were _rules,_ of course, but he didn't know _why._  


She looked taken aback. A six-year-old wearing a tattered pirate costume covered in reddish dog hair was holding up her hand to the light, inspecting it. “Excuse me?”  


Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Your fingers smell like cigarettes, but there isn’t any on your clothes and you look like my uncle does when Mummy tells him he can’t smoke in the house, like you’ve got an itch where you can’t reach.” And your face is all pinched up, he doesn’t add, because Mycroft said don’t tell people their faces are stupid.  


Mycroft started to speak, but the smoking lady shushed him angrily and grabbed Sherlock roughly by the arm. She led him over to the blocks before she shoved Mycroft off to his classes.  


Sherlock sat down next to a boy and picked up a block, scrutinizing it the way Mycroft showed him. “Kids put these in their _mouths,_ ” he said suddenly, and dropped it abruptly. More interesting was the boy next to him.  


His clothes were frayed, and they fit badly. Hand-me-downs. Couldn’t pay for new, Sherlock knew that clothes cost a lot of money. He had soap on his face and scrapes on his elbows and knees. His parents made him wash but didn’t check to make sure he was finished before they rushed him to school. They must both work or they wouldn’t need to hurry. And the scrapes, this boy rode a bike around, but he wasn’t very good yet, just learning.  


Sherlock proudly relayed what he discovered to the boy. “You haven’t got a lot of money, and you don’t like washing your face. Your mummy makes you wash anyway but she and your dad have to work so she doesn’t check to see if you did good enough. You need to learn how to balance your bike. My name is Sherlock Holmes,” he finished, smiling.  
The boy stared at him. There was a long pause. “Freak.” The boy turned his back pointedly.  


All day, whenever Sherlock tried to play, he could hear the kid whispering, “ _That boy over there is a Freak._ ” When he looked over, the boy quickly stopped pointing at him and pretended not to be watching him.  


After lunch, everyone was sitting at their tables. The teacher was talking about spelling. She asked Sherlock if he could spell his name. He stood up and proudly said, “Capital S, H, E, R, L, O, C, K, space, Capital H, O, L, M, E, S.” She smiled patronizingly.  


“That’s your middle name, William. William is spelled…” Sherlock quickly interrupted her.  


“My name is Sherlock Holmes. My brother’s name is Mycroft Holmes. I can count backwards from one hundred and I know my multiples through fifteen times fifteen, which makes two hundred twenty-five. Your husband is left-handed, and you smoke even though my Mummy says it’s bad for you. That girl there has a father who drinks more than he should, and Alexander with the orange crayons doesn’t go to church. If you mix hydrochloric acid with sodium hydroxide you get salt and water, but if you tried to drink either one first you’d get sick and maybe die. Edward Teach is Blackbeard’s real name, his pirate ship was called Queen Anne’s Revenge. I know what my own name is.”  


There was silence. The teacher stared at him. Sherlock could feel the eyes of twenty-three classmates on him, burning holes through his already torn and mussed pirate outfit. Suddenly Sherlock heard a whisper behind him.  


_“Freak.”_  


The teacher didn’t call on Sherlock for the rest of the day. During rest time, someone poked Sherlock and said, “Hey, Freak, why’re you dressed up like a pirate? Halloween isn’t till Octobrer.” Sherlock turned away and closed his eyes when the kids around him laughed.  


_Freak freak freak._  


By the time Mycroft came to pick him up, Sherlock understood why his older brother never liked talking about school. Sherlock smiled widely when he saw his brother at the door. Mycroft had a backpack stuffed with books and a tight smile on his face, just like every other time the older boy came home from school.  


Sherlock held Mycroft’s hand, his grip stronger and maybe a little afraid. He smiled up at his tall, smart older brother, and Mycroft’s fake grin disappeared when he saw Sherlock’s face. Sherlock blinked when he realized his smile was just as make-believe.

_Freak._


End file.
